


All Due Respect

by Arvak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Sheriff Stilinski, Dom Stiles, Hair Pulling, Hate Sex which is really Love Sex because they realize they dont actually hate each other, Hell Yeah!, I like Peter Hale <3, M/M, Not good at tags btw, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Steamy, Stiles is the dominant one, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and funny, but also cute, cuz that's hot, like so much sexual tension, rough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28175832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvak/pseuds/Arvak
Summary: "You've fucking won, Stiles, so quit acting like you're the victim here!""Victim?!" Stiles took another step and pushed at Derek's stupid leather-jacket clad chest. "I'm not acting like a victim! I'm justsickof you acting like I'm broken!" He pushed him again and watched with sick glee as his Alpha eyes flared. "You'rethe one acting like I'm the victim! I could put your on your ass if I wanted to!""Yeah?! Then do it!" Derek grabbed Stiles' arms and pushed him hard, making him fall backwards into the counter, pain erupting from his spine."Ow,"Stiles growled under his voice, vision blacking out on the edges. He could feel all of that pent up energy climbing up, soaring under his skin, pumping lava-hot blood through his veins and pushing him towards a very real, unbridled rage."Come on, Stiles! Put me on the ground!"-----Or, the one where Stiles is close to a breakdown and needs to blow off some steam... And Derek is more than willing to oblige.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 254





	All Due Respect

"For the love of god, just pick a fucking box of cereal already!" Derek snapped at Stiles, who was holding three boxes of cereal and having a near crisis trying to figure out who the hell in the pack likes what cereal for the past five minutes or so.

"Okay, first of all, no need to get _snappy_ ," Stiles started, glaring at him over his shoulder and making a vague jerk of his elbow towards the people surrounding them, as they were in a public fucking grocery store. "And secondly, we can only buy two things of cereal this week what with the cook-out thing and all that, because of the _price limit_ that _you_ insisted we had on grocery trips. With that said, we have _seven testy_ teenagers to feed, all with different preferences on cereal taste, the _picky bastards_. So I'm trying to figure out what cereals to get in order to achieve the least amount of _whining_ possible, and therefore doing you a _favor_." Stiles squinted back at the glare directed at him. "Just say the word and I could make _you_ pick the cereal and let _you_ deal with the _whining_."

"No, no," Derek said, eyes slightly crazy and a tone of voice to match. "Go on, Stiles. Take your time."

Derek walked away in a huff, and Stiles huffed right back. This usually wouldn't be a problem, Derek's actually pretty patient, but the last time Derek and Stiles had seen each other three days ago, they had once again nearly died, this time at the hands of a witch (a total bitch of a witch), got in a huge argument over who was in the right and wrong because that's just _so damn important for some reason_ , and then saved each other's asses reluctantly. They were still on a raw spot at the moment. They'd get over it as they always do, and then find another reason to hate each other a week later. It's how they work.

A moment later, obviously Derek's attempt to calm the anger between them and go back to their somewhat-companions reluctancy of a relationship, Derek came back with his phone and shoved it into Stiles' hand, then shove that to his ear, nearly knocking Stiles out in the process.

"What the hell, Derek?" Stiles griped, but several voices in his ear greeted him happily.

_"Hey there, pack-mom!"_ Erica said with a smile in her voice.

"Oh. Hi." Stiles gave Derek a withering glare, and all Derek did was cross his arms and glare off somewhere else. Good job. Tell that can of beans to fuck off, Sourwolf. "Cereal. Quickly pick. I can only get two."

In a jumble of voices, everyone shouted out the cereal they wanted and a few of them started arguing, immediately threatening each other bodily harm. Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes, albeit fondly. You can't pick your family... But you sure as hell can pick your pack, so why the hell does he surround himself with such idiots?

"Alright. Everyone hush," Stiles said, and after a moment, they quieted down. "I'm sick of standing here so can we please just come to a decision? I'm looking at the ones on sale. We've got Fruit Loops, Cheerios, and that weird organic Choco-Bunny shit that Isaac likes."

_"Chocolate Bunny Shit?"_ Scott asked in a truly wary voice and Stiles could only _imagine_ the look on his face, and when he did he laughed despite the bristling anger still crawling under his skin. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Derek sigh and even that little movement of his chest made Stiles want to snap at him.

_"It's chocolate cereal in the shape of rabbits and it's organic and no, it doesn't taste like shit,"_ Isaac said moodily. _"unlike Cheerios."_

_"Yeah, I'll agree with that,"_ Boyd said. _"I'm so sick of Cheerios."_

_"But Fruit Loops,"_ Erica whined.

_"I say Chocolate Bunny Shit,"_ Lydia said.

_"You're like, never over at the loft,"_ Erica said. _"This is our breakfast. You don't get a say."_

"Lydia is in the pack, even if it is unofficially, so she gets a say regardless," Stiles explained patiently.

_"Whatever,"_ Erica grumbled.

"Alright, uh... Anyone want Fruit Loops?"

_"Me,"_ Erica whined, all alone.

"Now Cheerios."

Everyone snorted when no one said anything, and Stiles shelved the Cheerios.

"And I assume the rest of you want-"

_"Chocolate Bunny Shit for breakfast!"_ Several of them shouted, or at least something to that extent, and Stiles rolled his eyes and tossed two boxes of the Choco-Bunny cereal into the cart, saying bye and hanging up the call. But he frowned when he heard Erica sigh before the call cut off.

Stiles handed the phone back to Derek and stared at the Fruit Loops in his other hand.

"I'll pay for it with my own money," Stiles decided as he tossed the Fruit Loops in the cart. "So your price-limit rule isn't broken. It's just a damn box of cereal for fuck's sake."

He expected Derek to snap back at him - hell, part of him was even looking forward to it so that he could then snap something snarky and out of place right back. But when he looked up, Derek was giving him that _look_. The same one he's been giving Stiles for the past year, getting more and more often as time goes on. If Stiles were less observant, he would never notice it, but he did. And if Stiles were less smart, he'd think that it meant nothing, but this look meant everything, and he knew it.

The unfortunate thing was he just didn't know what it actually _meant_.

The next day, a beautifully sunny Saturday, Stiles was listening to music with his awesome noise-canceling, hella-awesome bass earbuds on Derek's couch, soaking up the sunlight that streamed in from the window. It was clockwork. The sun-beam hit the couch for about half an hour around 1:10 in the afternoon in the spring. So any time Stiles was over at the loft in the spring around 1:10 in the afternoon, the couch was his.

Which is why he was kind of pissed that Derek decided to pull out his earbud and bother him.

"What the fuck do you want," Stiles snapped. Yeah, he was being a bit harsh, but for the love of fuck, what the hell does Derek need? Like, come on, they nearly died the other day and while Derek is a werewolf and can recover from near death, Stiles is human and fragile and, look, the point is it _freaked him out_ and all he wants is some peace and quiet to try to furiously disconnect from the existential crisis trying to creep in. Usually, some peace and quiet is what everyone wants from Stiles, too, as they like to so frequently remind him.

The snappy tone from Stiles made Derek's Alpha red eyes flash before the wolfman could shut them. Sourwolf sighed deeply. "Scott wants you to call him."

Stiles threw his arm over his face. "Tell him I'm busy." He doesn't want to deal with Scott's shit today. He just wants to fucking relax.

Derek sighed and near snarled, "I'm not 'telling' him anything. You can pick up your phone and call your stupid friend-"

Stiles glared at Derek. "Don't call him stupid."

Derek sighed again and rubbed his face. "Okay, Stiles. For the- Just-" A growl rattled in Derek's throat.

"What the fuck are you growling about?! You're the one that bothered me!"

"Because Scott-"

"Fuck Scott! We both nearly fucking died and all I want to do is be left alone!"

"Then why the hell are you _here?!_ "

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought this was a place I was aloud!"

"No- I-" Derek threw a hand up. "What the fuck ever." He stomped away and retreated up the spiral staircase and Stiles heard something slam up there.

Whatever. Derek can take his testy wolfy ass and throw shit around upstairs. Stiles is going to shut his eyes and bask in the sun in peace.

The next time Stiles opened his eyes, he startled a bit to see Derek in the chair beside the couch with a book in his lap.

Stiles pulled out his earbuds, about to say something about Derek needing to give him some fucking space if he's going to be so pissy, but Derek beat him to it and looked over to him and held up a hand. "Stop."

Stiles scoffed. "I didn't even-"

"Scott called. He was worried because you weren't answering him," Derek said in a calm and placating voice. "I told him I'd get you to call him. But I'm not going to be your little messenger, so no, I wasn't just going to 'tell him' that you were busy." Derek set the book on the table and leaned forward, lifting his brows slightly. "Yes, we nearly died again. I'm _pissed_ that you decided to try to take on a two-hundred year old witch with nothing but an enchanted stick. Yes, I acknowledge my interference did make her attack, but she would've attacked either way - and no I'm not just saying that as an excuse, I could _smell_ it - and if I hadn't've been in the way to take her spell, it would've been you, and you wouldn't have recovered from what she hit me with. I'm not sorry I got in the way, and I know you're not sorry you took on the witch on your own, and I'm okay with that."

Stiles' brows had been steadily rising with each word over two sentences Derek spoke. At this point he's pretty sure he had no eyebrows left - they were all the way into his hairline. Maybe creeping into the air above his head like a cartoon.

"I think that's the most I've ever heard you say at once, wolfman," Stiles said teasingly, but thoughtfully. Part of him was even a little startled. Like, genuinely freaked out. It was probably the part of him that had to deal with that one shape-shifter thing using Derek's face to try to take over the pack. That shape-shifter had talked too much, which was it's only mistake. Should've known Mister Wolfman only grunts a sentence at a time.

Derek clasped his hands together. "I've been told by a certain scrawny human that I need to learn to use my words," he said, deadpan.

Stiles cracked a smile. "I've gotta say, whoever said that must be on point." Derek rolled his eyes and a fond smile threatened to tug at his lips. "I'm impressed, Sourwolf. Seven out of ten, would hear again."

Derek looked back up at him with a mildly exasperated look. "So are we going to quit going at each others throats?"

Stiles snorted. "Yeah whatever. For now at least."

"Yeah, for now."

That's as good as a heartfelt conversation as they're ever going to get to, so, all in all, Stiles supposes that went pretty well. Usually, after nearly dying and/or after a big fight, it takes something more along the lines of something physical, like Stiles punching Derek, or Derek shoving him into a wall, or possibly a bumping of shoulders, or a hand on the back of a neck, to signal that they were cool with each other again, or at least set such thing in motion. They've never just talked it out like that, and it left Stiles feeling a bit empty and dissatisfied. Like some sort of routine was just interrupted.

Stiles crossed his arms and stared at his good work. He had turned Scott's backyard into the best cook-out party one could ever hope for.

No, that's a lie. One of the tables is missing half a bench. There's a chair in the corner with a bright sign that says, _If you're over 100lb, this thing will break. I'm looking at you, heffer-wolves._ And the grill is practically a thousand years old.

But he'd thrown some cheery table cloths over the wooden tables to cover all the mildewed holes, thrown up a fold-up table that was actually worth half a shit with a line of bowls filled with food, and, well, that old ass grill was still a'cookin'!

He breathed in the scent of dead cow burning over a coaled flame and smiled.

Perfect.

Now, he just has to make sure the pack doesn't demolish all of it before everyone at least had a chance to get here.

"Looks good," the Sheriff said, coming up to stand beside him. "Melissa'll be late. She's on her way with some coleslaw."

"Sweet," Stiles said, before wiggling a finger at the grill.

"I know, I know." His dad flipped the burger patties on the grill and whatnot and Stiles went into the house to greet everyone as they began to arrive.

"Nicely done, nephew," Peter said from somewhere beside Stiles. The boy refused to open his eyes and acknowledge his presence. Mostly because he'd caught sight of Zombiewolf earlier and saw that he was wearing a _pink_ shirt and he's pretty sure he'd make an unfortunate comment that would lead to him getting strangled if he allowed himself the opportunity. "You've actually managed to gather enough competence to put together a semi-functioning party. Dare I say I'm impressed."

"It wasn't me," Derek grunted. Stiles peeked an eye open and saw Derek gesture to him. Peter looked over with a raised brow.

"What do you mean semi-functioning?" Stiles said despite himself.

"Some of your guests are fighting in the living room. Two more have retreated to Scott's room to play games with each other." The man smirked. "And not the kind you think."

Stiles winced and then made a barfing motion, getting up from his sunny spot on Scott's only functioning lawn chair. "Fine. Who's fighting."

"He's just giving you shit," Chris said, walking over with a dry look towards Peter. "Your dad and I had a little disagreement over baseball. It was nothing."

Stiles narrowed his eyes and searched Chris for injuries. "You sure? You look fine." That actually got a chuckle out of Chris. Damn! A functioning party and a chuckle from Argent?! Shit, Stiles is on a roll here! "Anyway, I'm gonna go stop Erica and Boyd from fucking in Scott's bed. I'll be right back."

That was a lie. He'd sooner scoop out his own eyeballs than risk opening the door and seeing... that.

Stiles shuttered.

He did walk inside though and go to the kitchen. It was quiet here. Everyone else was in the living room or outside. He should've just let Lydia throw the party and suffer through the aftermath of the intoxication she would've most definitely allowed. Her house was much larger. It feels just a tad cramped here.

That was an understatement. Stiles was starting to feel like a sardine.

He braced his hands on the counter and took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment to calm down. That existential crisis was still trying its best to steamroll him. Usually if he can stave it off long enough for the next big thing to try to take over his entire life, it goes away... That or it compounds into a full blown breakdown, but he has wonderful medical-grade sedatives for that.

"Everything okay?"

Stiles turned around and sighed at Derek. "Yes, dude, I'm _fine_."

"Why are you still mad at me?"

"Oh my _god_ , Derek!" Stiles pulled at his own hair hard enough to hurt. "I _wasn't_ , until you kept treading on fucking eggshells around me!" For days since their weird talk in which Derek basically apologized or something, he's been strange. Like, weirdly _nice._ And practically _gentle_.

Stiles didn't like it. It wasn't right. It went against their natural balance and it bothered him.

"I'm not... I'm not treading on-"

" _Yes_ , Derek, you _are!_ You're letting me throw the party the way I want to, and you're bringing me food when I forget to eat, and you're asking me if I'm _okay_ -"

"I'm being a good Alpha," Derek insisted.

" _No,_ you're being _weird!_ "

"So being a good Alpha is weird?"

Stiles flailed a hand. "For you?! YES!"

"So you just want me to stop?"

"I-... I- uh- Y-Yes!"

"Alright." Sourwolf put his hands up. He looked angry, but he always looks like that. Underneath the anger, he looked genuinely hurt. "I'm sorry, Stiles."

The breath punched itself out of Stiles' lungs and his shoulders fell. " _What?!_ "

"You've been on the edge of a breakdown, Stiles. I could smell it. I just wanted to help - I'm _sorry_ for trying to _care_." Yes! Yes, there's that bite! There's that sharp edge of the his that Stiles needed!

"Don't you _dare_ even make me feel sorry about this!"

" _I'm_ the one apologizing, Stiles! You've won!" Sourwolf took a step closer, and Stiles let out a sick laugh and took one closer too. He could feel it. This is what he was missing. This is what was preventing him from escaping the breakdown. It was their _rhythm_. The rhythm that Derek had effectively demolished by talking shit out instead of just letting their usual post-stress fight come on naturally. The rhythm that had always helped Stiles get out the pent up fear and energy and confide in another person - however unconventional - instead of letting it suffocate him.

He didn't realize how much he'd always needed it until now.

"You've fucking won, Stiles, so quit acting like you're the victim here!"

" _Victim?!_ " Stiles took another step and pushed at Derek's stupid leather-jacket clad chest. "I'm not acting like a victim! I'm just _sick_ of you acting like I'm broken!" He pushed him again and watched with sick glee as his Alpha eyes flared. " _You're_ the one acting like I'm the victim! I could put your on your ass if I wanted to!"

"Yeah?! Then do it!" Derek grabbed Stiles' arms and pushed him hard, making him fall backwards into the counter, pain erupting from his spine.

" _Ow,"_ Stiles growled under his voice, vision blacking out on the edges. He could feel all of that energy climbing up, soaring under his skin, pumping lava-hot blood through his veins and pushing him towards very real, unbridled rage.

"Come on, Stiles! Prove your worth! Put me on the ground!"

Had Stiles not been so out of his mind angry, he might've seen that all of this had been an act for his benefit.

Had he not lost control and lunged for Derek, throwing out his fist, he might've seen the quick expression of reluctant fear in his eyes.

Had he not chosen Derek to be his anchor for the rage years ago, he might've seen that Derek could quite easily be the type of person to come up behind him and ask if he was okay when he was most surely not - he might've seen that he could be the one to bring him snacks when he's in the deep end of a research-binge - he might've seen that Derek could be _more_.

Unfortunately, he never saw any of that.

But he sure saw Derek's hands come up to block his blows. And he saw his arms wrap around him to throw Stiles onto the couch.

He saw his own fists connect with Derek's cheek as he came jumping off the couch. He saw an opportunity to take him down, and he kicked his Alpha in the gut, slammed his elbow into his jaw when the asshole grabbed his leg, and tripped him over his own foot when he had let go. He saw Derek on the floor, and he dropped on top of him, digging his knee into his back and holding him down hard with a hand around the back of his neck.

He had won.

Well, he thought he had.

Derek reached back and grabbed his foreleg, pulling while he rolled over. Stiles went down hard onto his side, sliding across the floor a little, and Derek grabbed his arms again, pulling him up to his feet and slamming him into the wall. Stiles yelped in pain and tried to hit him, but he couldn't manage much more than slamming his fists into his chest. At that point, Derek had caught his bearings and Stiles no longer had the surprise of his quick jabs. His fists no longer made any real damage.

"Damn it, Derek!" Stiles cried out, trying to kick and punch, and getting nothing but an aggravated growl from the Alpha. "Come on! Just- just fucking fight me!"

" _Why_?" It wasn't the word itself that broke Stiles into tears. It was the word, its meaning, and the positively crippling way he'd said it.

_Why are you the way that you are? Why do you do this to yourself? Why can't you just be normal?_

Stiles broke down into sobs, digging his fingers into Derek's chest and hoping it hurt, even though he knew it didn't. He began shaking, like an earthquake beneath his feet, and Derek just... wrapped his big fucking arms around him and held him together.

"F-fuck you! Get off of me!" Stiles pushed him away and Derek just _obeyed!_ "Damn it! Why do you have to-... Just-..." He lashed out again and the asshole grabbed his wrists easily. The energy under his skin was still there, lingering like the heat of fire. Just smoldering until there was nothing left to consume. Stiles just wanted it gone already. He wished he was a werewolf in that moment, so he could shift and just take off into the woods, sprinting far faster than he ever could as a human, taking all of that energy and expelling it through his lungs in a loud, ground-rumbling howl. "Fuck you, Derek!"

_Damn it, Derek, fuck me!_

Stiles pulled away, in shock of himself. Derek let go and stood there, braced for another attack. _Fuck me!_ the voice said, and suddenly it was all Stiles could imagine.

He gritted his teeth, thinking of all the nights he touched himself. Of fucking course he already knew that all of the best orgasms were the ones he'd had after a physical fight with Derek, imagining his red-eyed gaze on him, intense and all-consuming. That deep growl in his chest, his unhinged rage. His hands on him, tight and unforgiving. Pushing him around and allowing himself to be pushed around.

He clenched his fists as it echoed in his head. That is what all of this has been about. All of it. All of the fighting. All of the pushing. All of the arguments, just pushing them towards a physical resolution so the two of them could simply feel each other without having to confront a change in relationship...

God damn it, Peter, Erica, Lydia, Isaac - they had all been right. Every single little quip about the two of them being "an old married couple", just needing to "bang one out", just needing to "get a room already, geez".

They were right.

"What, are you just gonna stand there-"

"Shut up!"

Stiles lunged forward and Derek rose his hands to fight back, but he wasn't expecting Stiles to wrap his legs around his hips and grab his face. He wasn't expecting Stiles to claim his mouth and fucking _devour it_ , years and years of unresolved fucking sexual tension - _god damn it they were right! -_ coming to life under Stiles' skin. All that pent up energy that just had to go somewhere? Oh, yeah, it was going somewhere alright. Somewhere between his legs.

Derek stood there for a good solid second or two, stunned into stillness. Until Stiles tightened his fist in his stupidly soft hair hard enough to hurt. The werewolf let out a choked whimper of pain and then his hands went around Stiles' waist, holding him tight and his lips met Stiles' in the filthiest, deepest, most amazing kiss Stiles has ever had.

Not that he's had many, but he's fairly certain that he's never going to have another one like this again.

Derek stepped forward and Stiles grunted when his back hit the wall. Derek's teeth caught Stiles' bottom lip, just a glancing nip, and Stiles growled under his breath, wrenching his head back by his hair and closing his teeth around Derek's lip much harder, making the man's mouth fall open and the sexiest fucking sound Stiles has ever heard left his throat. The sudden surge of blood flow from his brain to his already-hard dick literally made his head spin and he had to open his eyes just to see that this was really happening.

That's when he glanced over and froze, staring at the faces of the entire pack, and all of the friends they had invited over. Everyone. Everyone Stiles and Derek knew, everyone who had ever helped out the pack. Including his fucking dad.

Derek finally caught a clue and looked over as well. Looked at the shocked expressions. A few uncomfortable ones. Notably, Peter looked positively delighted, and snatched Chris' wallet out of the hunter's back pocket, taking out a $100 bill with a triumphant look. Scott looked exactly like he had when he had gotten Melissa's horrifying sex talk when she caught he and Stiles flipping through a porno magazine when they were 10. And Stiles' dad?

His hand was on his gun, already unclipped from its holster.

" _Derek_ ," Stiles snapped, unhooking his legs from his waist and pushing him away.

And then, to make everything a billion times worse, Erica called out, "Nice tents!" and giggled obnoxiously.

"Oh my _god,_ Erica!" Stiles snapped at her, turning and yanking the front door open. He ran to his car and got in, but the damn jeep wouldn't start. He pumped the gas as he cranked it and it whined but didn't do anything. "Why won't you fucking start you piece of fucking crap!"

Stiles jumped and looked over when Scott's front door slammed and watch Derek run from the house to his Camero. Immediately after, the front door yanked open and Stiles' dad came out, holding his gun in his hand (not aimed at Derek but it was a very near thing) and looking absolutely _livid_.

Stiles turned his key faster, hoping that would help. He stopped pumping the gas, hoping he hadn't flooded her, and bit his lip hard. "I'm sorry I called you a piece of crap, baby, just please start now? Please? Please, please, please, baby, please."

Finally, she cranked up and Stiles got one last look at his father as Chris came out and set a hand on his shoulder to hold him back before Stiles gunned it hard enough the exhaust backfired and his poor jeep jerked to life, throwing Stiles forward into the wheel and slamming back into the seat.

Finally free from that hell, he tore after the Camero down the road.

When Stiles caught up with him at the loft, he grabbed his stupid jacket from his shoulders and threw it in the corner before pushing the asshole onto the couch and claiming his rightful place on his lap.

"You know this means I'm on top," Stiles grunted as he allowed Derek to rip off his shirt.

"Because you're on my lap?" Derek said with a confrontational bite to his words, dragging his nails down Stiles' sides.

Stiles laughed darkly and grabbed his hair, yanking his head back again, watching Derek's eyes flash as they became heavy and lidded. "Because you _like_ me on top."

The resulting growl told him he was absolutely right.

**-Back at Scott's place-**

"Well..." Chris mumbled as the Sheriff watched his son's car speed down the road, breaking every speed limit this damn place had. "I know what it's like to watch your kid fall for a werewolf... It's never easy, knowing they're-"

"All due respect, Chris..." the Sheriff fumed. "Your kid at least chose someone her own age - who hadn't even _killed anyone_." Chris fell silent.

"We're all works in progress," Peter chimed from behind him.

Sheriff Stilinski turned around and pointed at Peter, his hand shaking. "You'll be next! I saw you take Chris' money! You bet on this?!"

"Of course," Peter scoffed. "You expect me not to benefit off of my nephew's downfall?" Peter watched as the vein in the Sheriff's forehead bugged out and felt his confidence dwindle when he remembered where Stiles got the strength to be the human boy to run with werewolves.

Derek wasn't the only Hale to run for their lives that night.

**Author's Note:**

> I usually write Steter (Stiles/Peter). But this felt right.
> 
> Comments and kudos; I live, I breathe for them <3


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